


Peep Show

by riyku



Series: Skam Sunday [9]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comeplay, Even's mouth deserves its own tag, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Public Sex, Voyeurism, so much masturbation, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 18:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riyku/pseuds/riyku
Summary: This might be the kinkiest thing Isak's ever done, theonlykinky thing he's ever done, but he's committed to it by now, and screw it, he's gonna give this guy something worth watching.





	Peep Show

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Peep Show](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896053) by [vmaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vmaz/pseuds/vmaz)



> holy cow, this prompt grew legs on me. it was supposed to be maybe 1k, 1.5k tops.
> 
> many, many, so many thanks to tebtosca, for still putting up with me, and for helping me figure out what was missing in this here thing. if it at all makes sense, you have her to thank.
> 
> for penny, lisa, and marianna.

All the lights are off and the golden age of West Coast hip-hop is blaring through Isak's headphones. The sheets are like a puddle under him, and his door is cracked to try and catch a cross breeze that doesn't exist. And whatever, maybe Isak's being a little melodramatic about it, but it's hot. Fucking hot, as if some great omnipotent hand high in the sky has switched on a blast heater directly over Oslo, set the thing all the way up to liquefy, and has no intention of turning it off. 

It's made him irritable, bitey, and he might have uncharitably told Eskild to quiet down and quit contributing to the sheer fuckton of hot air in the flat. Eskild might have taken it in stride, told him that he'd have to apologize for that one later, snatched up Linn and told Isak that he was going to go be hot somewhere else, someplace where there was one less bratty seventeen year old and a few more unnaturally neon-colored frozen drinks with punny names.

He's alone in the house, and it's with an indulgent, adolescent thrill and a glance toward his open bedroom door that he slides his hand down his bare chest, across his stomach, pushes his boxers down until they're snug around his thighs. He palms his balls, fingers rubbing at the soft, sweaty skin behind them, begins to get hard. 

He closes his eyes and tries to picture the girl from last weekend, or better, the one before that. A tiny first year with narrow hips and short hair, her chest barely more than a suggestion. She'd felt so light in his lap, had smelled like baby powder and tasted like bubblegum lip gloss. Shy-tongued kisses at first and later a sweetly confused smile when Isak wouldn't let her go down on him. It's not her fault that Isak will probably never call her. She's an overcompensation and that's not her fault either.

The image of her dissolves as Isak skitters his fingers up along his half-chubbed cock, presses his thighs together. It's replaced by something more vague. Large palms and long fingers, wide shoulders and a sharp jawline. A frankenstein dream-boy Isak builds out of magazine advertisements and the porn he keeps hidden in the guts of his laptop. A little of this and a little of that. Tonight he's tall, blonde and faceless. Likes to push Isak up against walls and fuck him open on his cock right away, drive in deep and stay there, make Isak do all the work.

Isak starts rocking up into his own hand, sweat and precome slicking the way, making it good, jabs of his hips matched to the thump of the music in his ears. He tightens his grip, twists a little on the upstroke, swipes his thumb across his slit, nips at his own bottom lip and pretends it's someone else's teeth biting into him. Someone else's hand kneading inside of his thigh, tugging gently at his balls, sliding up again to toy with his nipples, make them grow stiff and sensitive. 

He's almost there, heat spreading outward from his guts like the close, stuffy air that hugs his skin. His breath is stuttering, and he doesn't bother to stifle a long groan as he squeezes his cock below the crown, picks up another dribble of precome and goes at himself harder, faster.

The song ends, and before the next one can start up, Isak hears a soft scrape. His eyes fly open and there's a form in his doorway. A darker shadow against the dark interior of the flat. It fills up the frame. It isn't Eskild. Too tall. Too thin. Too much hair, and Isak should stop. A shock is running through him and his heart is hammering and his hand is still working on autopilot, cock straining against his palm, what seems like his pulse beating through it. He should stop. The ache in his balls might do him in if he quits at this point, and it's possible that he's too far gone, orgasm right there, closing in quick. A centimeter away, near enough to taste. He should stop. But he _can't_.

The stranger is plainly into it, stepping into the room and silently closing the door behind him, leaning against it like he plans to see this thing through. His mouth is parted and his eyes are wide. Curious and heated, fixed on the blur of Isak's hand on his cock, and there's something about it, something in the feeling of those eyes drilling into him that makes Isak run even hotter, arch into it, spread his thighs as far as his boxers will let them get.

Isak comes, eyes still fixed on the guy, swallowing down a choked noise, letting his spunk dot his stomach. This might be the kinkiest thing he's ever done, the _only_ kinky thing he's ever done, but he's committed to it by now, and screw it, he's gonna give this guy something worth watching.

"What the fuck?" Isak slurs after he's done, begins to push himself to his elbows and sinks back down again as the guy crosses the room, shadows resolving into features. 

Pale skin stretched across high cheekbones, messy blonde hair, broad shoulders. A soft mouth that would look real pretty wrapped around Isak's cock. Strong wrists and slender fingers that are now reaching toward Isak's stomach, two of them swiping through his come. The guy lifts them to his lips, never looks away as he licks them clean, sucks on them one at a time like he's trying to make sure he's got it all. Without a word, he spins around and disappears, closing the door behind him, leaves Isak breathing hard and dazed, wondering in a real-world way if any of it actually happened.

\--- 

Eskild's in the kitchen, letting the counter do the job of holding him up, feeding caffeine to his hangover, waving Isak away as Isak mumbles through that apology he owes him.

"Who was here last night?" Isak asks, careful to keep his face blank, his voice level and disinterested. He woke up sweaty and strangely hollow, feeling the ghost-trail of the guy's fingers on his stomach, dried come still crusty on his skin. 

"Even. Guy from the bar. Cute. Tall," Eskild says into his coffee cup. 

"Hook up?" Isak says. Things are a little monosyllabic this morning. It happens.

"I wish, but no. Seems nice. Did we wake you up?"

Isak shakes his head. "Not really," Isak lies. It's a tiny one, doesn't count all that much. "Is he still here?" 

"He left a while ago." Eskild pats Isak's stomach, slides past him on the way to the shower. "Don't worry. I'm not replacing you. You're still my favorite stray."

\--- 

"Isak." Even repeats his name after Isak introduces himself, acts like this is the first time he's ever laid eyes on him.

It turns out Even's voice is deep, his eyes are very, very blue. His handshake is strong and his fingers actually are as long as Isak remembers. He brings a bottle of wine to thank everyone for the invitation, flirts harmlessly and equally with Linn and Eskild and barely says anything to Isak at all. He watches him the whole time, though.

\--- 

He begins showing up. Turns into a fixture in the way that Jonas or Magnus or Mahdi are to Isak. He hits the bars with Eskild, plays video games with Linn. It's not unusual for Isak to come home from school and find him sitting at the table across from one or both of his roommates, a supper he's making for them bubbling away on the stove. He's kind. Polite. A little distant.

Isak's imaginary dream-boy is a lot less frankenstein than he used to be. He now has a name and a face that's static and defined. He's got messy blonde hair and holy fuck, the mouth on him.

\--- 

"You look tired," Even tells him, and it catches Isak off guard. He can count on one hand the number of times he's been alone in a room with him. Add a couple of fingers to that to get the number of times Even's spoken to him directly. Double it to get the number of times Isak's beaten off to the idea of the guy.

Isak's at the table, plowing through leftover takeout and the book he was supposed to have already read for lit class tomorrow. "I'm not too bad. Gotta read." 

The situation is jacked. Eskild's at the other end of the flat trying on his fourth potential outfit for his night out with Even, and Isak's here, talking bullshit with the one person in the world who knows exactly what he looks like when he comes. 

"You should go to bed," Even says, and backs out of the kitchen as Eskild calls to him.

Isak abandons his supper and his book. He's fully hard before he manages to make it to his room and get his belt unhooked, is only barely sprawled across his bed before Even is slipping through his doorway, locking the door behind himself. 

"Are you gonna--" Isak starts, but Even cuts him off.

"You have maybe three minutes," Even says, and straightens his spine against the door. "Keep the light on."

Isak does it in about two and a half, gaze stuck on Even all throughout it, watches him chew at his lips and a blush spread across his cheeks and down his throat. How he swallows, breathes harder. The way his fists clench when Isak gets close, begins bucking up into his hand. It's weird and voyeuristic and so unbelievably hot, having Even staring down at him the entire time, being in possession of every fraction of this beautiful creature's attention and yet still not have his hands on him. 

Isak makes a mess of himself like before, spunk dripping down his stomach to pool in his belly button, and it's only then that Even moves, bends low and licks up a long white streak off of Isak's skin, tongue wet and hot and incredibly soft. Isak digs his nails into his thighs, forces himself to keep his hands there, knows he's not allowed to touch.

\--- 

It happens three more times over the next five weeks. They never talk about it. They hardly talk at all. Isak's never gotten off so fast or so good in his life. He doesn't need an online gay test to tell him he's fucked.

Even isn't Isak's friend. He's three years older, closer to Eskild and Linn in age, has things like work and university and friends in common with them.

Isak has an almost-five in biology and a brand new inclination to get hard every time he hears Even's voice.

\--- 

Eskild had bullied Isak out of his room to watch a movie, and now he's sharing a couch with Even, sitting about as far away from him as possible, a throw pillow in his lap since nowadays just sharing air with him can sometimes get very complicated, very quickly.

It's some superhero thing where the plot has taken a backseat to the special effects. Eskild is debating with Linn as to whether or not the hero and the sidekick are fucking as they cuddle together on the other couch, and Even keeps shooting side glances at Isak, lingering longer and longer each time. A small, secret smile is on his face and it's a godawful crime, because not only is he gorgeous and strange, the sole occupant of all of Isak's fantasies, knows how to make a kickass bolognese, but now Isak thinks he's falling in love with Even a little. That he's fallen in love with the _idea_ of him already. 

Even recognizes it the instant Isak shifts the pillow some to sneak his hand down into his pants, cock damp and mostly hard. He tilts his head, his hair falling into his eyes while his eyebrows creep upward and the smile slips from his face. Isak's roommates are three feet away, and Isak is biting the inside of his cheek, trying to keep it slow while he pumps himself fully hard. His nose is pointed at the television and his eyes are cut toward Even.

Eskild has switched teams, now going on about how the hero and the villain are definitely fucking, building this whole hate sex scenario from backstory to its inevitably sappy conclusion, and Isak's torturing himself with slow, light tugs on his cock, shallow breaths, curling his toes against the floor and biting back a moan when he comes, sloppy and hot and up the inside of his wrist. He hopes he didn't get any on the pillow.

"I think I should go to bed," Isak says quietly. The final, epic battle is heating up on the television and the mess in Isak's boxers is going cool and sticky. He can smell it, and the way Even keeps breathing deeply, nose slightly flared, tells him that Even can probably smell it too.

Even changes position on the couch, slips his feet under Isak's thigh and squirms his toes to tell him he's doing it on purpose. "The movie's almost over," he says, just as quiet. "You should stay."

\--- 

The bar is busy for a Thursday, everybody in the place shouting to be heard over the noise, and it only makes it louder, so everyone shouts more. Isak's crammed into a booth beside Eskild, rubbing at the big black x's the guy at the door put on his hands in permanent marker and sneaking sips of Eskild's drink from time to time.

Even is across from him, his arm flung loose around Linn's shoulders. She's leaning into him, smiling. It's all so casually affectionate and Isak's the worst bastard in the room, sitting there with a hook in his stomach, wishing it could be his sleeve that Even's playing around with, the top of his head that Even kisses twice.

One song switches over to another, and Eskild pushes away from the table, drags Linn with him toward the dancefloor, leaves Isak mumbling about going to see whether or not he can scrub the marker off of his hands well enough to at least sneak a beer out of the bartender. 

The bathroom is empty when he gets there, and the marker is stubborn. Hot water and rough paper towels only turn the skin underneath the mark red and irritated, and he's about to see if he'll have any better luck with the left hand as Even walks in. He doesn't say anything, chin-points to one of the stalls, tents his fingers on Isak's chest and shoves him in that direction when Isak hesitates, then slams and locks the door behind them.

Isak presses his back against the flimsy metal, lightheaded from the sudden closeness of Even, their bodies centimeters apart but not touching, something like electricity sparking in the small space between them. Even leans in, rum-heavy breath that Isak can taste, the warmth of his skin bleeding into Isak's body. His hands follow the shape of Isak's ribs, his chest, upper arms, shaky and still not touching.

"Do it," Even tells him, voice tight as he drops to his knees on the grimy floor, legs spread wide and face turned upward. There's need in the way he holds his arms close to his body, the obvious bulge of his cock pushing at the crotch of his jeans. Supplication in the graceful curve of his throat and his pink, open mouth. It sets Isak back, fucks him up to see Even so wanting and vulnerable. Open in a way he's never been before.

Even sighs when Isak pulls his cock out and rubs himself hard. Isak's hand stutters on his skin, too dry, and it makes him grit his teeth, growl out a frustrated sound. Even pushes up some, spits right onto Isak's cock then does it again and backs off, a thin string of spit connecting the tip of Isak's cock to Even's bottom lip and Isak nearly loses it, has to press his shoulders to the stall's wall to keep himself upright. He blinks away the white spots that threaten to blank out his vision because he needs to _see_ Even. If any of this has a point, that's it.

The bathroom door opens, uneven, drunken footsteps echo off of the tiled walls and Isak misses a few beats, sucks in a huge breath and holds it as the guy pisses, flushes, messes around at the sink for what seems like a goddamn year, finally leaves.

"Don't fucking stop," Even whispers, a quick flash of something dark crossing over his expression.

Isak staggers forward a step at the command in his voice, hand screwing down again on his cock. His hips are getting into it now, he can't feel his feet and Even's still staring up at him, looking him right in the eyes, opening up his mouth wider, tongue snaking out. 

Truly, it's accidental, Isak's next half-step toward Even, the small, clumsy tilt and the raw thrust of his hips that makes him smear his cock against Even's bottom lip. Lets him experience the wet heat of Even's mouth on his cock for the very first time, get a taste of what it would feel like to have those lips on him, around him. Even jumps back, but he doesn't go far, grips Isak's thigh to maintain his balance and that small contact is what pushes Isak to the edge, makes him blow directly into Even's mouth, wreck those pretty lips of his with pulse after stringy pulse.

Isak collapses onto the toilet, pants undone around his hips and his cock still hanging out as Even staggers to his feet, wiping at his lips and licking his fingers in a way that's downright delicate. He towers over Isak, swaying, and waits for Isak to look up at him. Isak's fuck-drunk, doesn't know what to think as Even pries a thumb between his lips and forces his mouth open, only knows that Even is touching him again, bending down low. The thought that he's about to get kissed skitters through his mind, but instead Even inches in, spits into his mouth, then pats Isak's cheek.

"Taste that? It's you. So sweet," Even says, then he's gone and Isak's left muzzy-headed with the taste of himself rolling around his mouth. It's bitter. Not at all sweet.

\--- 

Two weeks. That's how long it's been since Isak's seen Even. Linn just shrugs and guesses he's busy. Eskild says he might be out of town. Isak worries about the line he might have crossed.

He thinks about him all the time.

\--- 

Isak recognizes him, could pick out of a crowd of hundreds Even's particular way of standing, elbows tucked in close to his waist, hunch-shouldered, back curved to make himself seem smaller.

It's not his bus stop. Isak hops off anyway, starts to cross the street to him then hangs back, voyeurism in reverse. Even's wrapped in a heavy coat and a scarf, a knit hat pulled low although the day doesn't call for it at all, standing outside of a coffee shop. He's speaking with a woman and his face is animated, his smile bright and big. The instant the woman walks away the smile disappears and his expression closes down, becomes shuttered. It stays that way as he walks into the café. Through the window, Isak sees him hang up his coat and put on a long black apron. The smile doesn't come back. 

Even takes up most of the space in Isak's head, but here, he's out of context. More human in a way. It's jarring to see it. And oddly comforting to realize that Isak might not be the only one with skin that sometimes doesn't fit and an offbeat, shoddy heart.

\--- 

The flat is dark as Isak drops his backpack and kicks his shoes off, but smells like red sauce and garlic. He wanders into the kitchen, and his heart leaps into his throat to find Even there, hovering over the stove and stirring a pot, lit by the dim hood light. He smiles at Isak, small and real, and holds a spoon to Isak's mouth for a taste. "Linn should be back soon."

"Where have you been?" Isak asks. A weight has settled onto his chest. His voice is trembling, and he doesn't care.

Even doesn't answer his question. Instead he says, "I never meant to miss you."

"But you did." Isak touches the small of Even's back, and Even lets him. He _lets_ him. He doesn't move away.

"Of course I did." Even lifts his hand to cup Isak's cheek, slides it around to the back his neck and pulls him down to kiss the top of his head. Twice. Nose still buried in Isak's hair, he goes on, "I'm not always gonna be good for you, but I'll always try to be good _to_ you."

Isak melts against Even's chest, holds onto his hips so tightly, keeps him close. It's intimate, more so than all the rest, every other fucked up thing they've ever done. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Even pauses, pulls back and searches Isak's face like he's trying to find the words he wants to say mapped out across it, "I think I need you."

\--end

thanks for reading!


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